My goal was just to tell the unlikely story in a way that would feel as convincing as possible.

It's really hard to get a book published, even a good book, but the better the book is the better chance it has of eventually catching someone's attention.

We were a different kind of Christian, the quiet, reasonable kind, a breed embarrassed by the mention of miracles.

Nothing has happened to me out of the closet that was anywhere near as dangerous as being closeted.

My sentences got sharper and my stories more efficient, and I gradually learned to imagine the reader more clearly and to empathize with that imagined reader, which is a crucial part of learning to tell stories.

With a little persuasion, any familiar thing can turn abnormal in the mind. Here's a thought experiment. Consider this brutal bit of magic. A human grows a second human in a space inside her belly; she grows a second heart and a second brain, second eyes and second limbs, a complete set of second body parts as if for use as spares, and then, after almost a year, she expels that second screaming being out of her belly and into the world, alive. Bizarre, isn't it?

An editor is like a professional reader, and as I became a better reader, I also became a better writer.